I woke up this morning feeling better than I did last night but with remnants of the emotion I wrote to you about. The sun extends right into my bedroom, lays its long arms on my pillow and tickles my eyelids until I open them, almost unwillingly. It lights up my room in such a way that I don't want to miss the early morning light, always before 9 am. I decide I will go slow this morning, which isn't much of a change from how I typically move but because I feel the stress of not finding work and not speaking this fucking language, I always feel like I should be proactive in achieving both these things every minute of every day. Efficiency - the bane of my existence. Today, I will ease into productivity and do the slow morning dance.
I bought a great new coffee maker. I don't know what it's called, it must have a name. It's Italian (sexy) and aluminum (attractive) and boils up into a fountain (romantic) and makes two perfect cups of espresso (love). I sit on the top of the tight, spiral staircase on my back porch. The light is always perfect there as it is a contained garden of enormous trees, other peoples balcony gardens and furry cats playing with the dirt or dust. The sunlight swirls around the small green leaves, encouraged by the wind. I read the English version of See or Vue. I am happy to be sitting there with my hot espresso and reading about all the great events and shows this city has to offer. Then I get depressed because without work or income, I cannot enjoy most of these costly things. I move inside.
For some reason I decide that I need to put up a hook in the bathroom and attach a small shelf to the wall in my kitchen. The hook is no problem. My hand towel now has a home. The shelf, on the other hand, becomes a challenge that I am not willing to back down from. It's a job for two people, or for my dad. I set it up where I think it will work best, lay the level on top of it to ensure its precise horizontal line and then wonder why the fuck I am doing this right now when I don't even have anything to put on it and that I am one, no help. I am determined. Mark the points where the screws will go in, make small holes with a nail to give the bigger screws space to start, and with my head and shoulder (my head and shoulder, ridiculous) hold it in place whilst I strain to push the long screw straight into my decrepit wall. I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's up. Not fully screwed in but I did my part. Now I need a man to use his upper body strength or his drill to finish it. Fuck. Could be some time before it's of any use.
I am dressed like a boy today. Paperboy hat (you know the one), t-shirt (Americana), ratty old shorts and sneakers. I realized this as I left my house this morning and wondered if it was a subconscious attempt at deflecting the ravenous eye. After what I wrote to you last night, I think it might be. Today I want to hide in a man's body. To move like men do with a swagger and an unfounded confidence. I want to gawk at women, look at them with eyes that are dressed in kindness and warmth, with the truth hidden just behind the iris. I want to walk around with my chest sticking out like a second head, my arms to sway with rigidity and strength, to laugh loudly with my man friends and to be caught off guard, whilst laughing with them, by a great ass in short shorts. Then we'll all laugh harder and louder and know what we're all thinking but not saying. I might say something to make sure that they know and maybe even she knows that I noticed her first and I could have that ass and that girl if I really wanted. I would do that all day.
I wonder what that would feel like. To look at a person and only see body parts. Beautiful eyes, big lips, amazing smile, big breasts, tiny waist, great ass, sexy legs. Those men should date mannequins. They would be better off, the real women I mean.
I may be going on a tangent here. I apologize. I wonder what Tio Tigre would think of all this. He would be appalled I'm sure. But the three of us, and the rest of the sock family, would have a good laugh about it for sure. I wish I could have you all over for dinner tonight. Tio Tigre, Tia Tigre, you and what was the other guy? His name and species evades me. Tia Teacup could come too. Oh what a hoot we would have.
Today I miss you more than ever. Today we would have everything to talk, laugh and cry about. We would spend the day wandering around, probably end up in the park or on a patio drinking beer and contemplating just how wacky we actually are compared to the rest of the world. I miss your tenderness when you see that I am breaking. I miss being able to spend hours and hours talking about everything in the world that is not men, relationships or love. That we could contemplate the state of the world, of women and children, of art and its purpose and what it means to us, of the places we've been and the places we will know, our families and the relationships we are constantly trying to improve, the meals we've made and the ones we want to try on each other, of all things that make up life. Our life. Our life together or just life in general. But, of course, some conversations just need to be about love or sex or men or everything in between that make us crazy and sad and excited and confused and frustrated and angry and elated and worried. All of it. Today, we would bare our souls about all of it. Every bit of everything that is nothing and something. Today, I am so grateful that you exist. And that you exist in my closest space, closest to my heart.
I will try the recipe. However, I am still without a kettle but soon. I promise.
Muchisima gracias mi chelita loca. Sin tu corazon y palabras, yo no podria existir en este mundo.
mil abrazos y besitos...
Tio Zorro. Of course.
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